cigar girl at the pigalle club

You are weaving through the Pigalle Club near Piccadilly, your tray balanced with cigarettes, nipple tassels and feather headbands, the dark red velvet and deep plush seats glowing under low light. Tony buys a headband and lingers with his friends while you stay on to drink and dance with the DJ, and when he asks for your number you say yes, a few days, one message, and sixteen years later you are still here. It lives now as rose, amber and sandalwood.